


Snakes and Ladders

by california_112



Category: The Great Escape (1963)
Genre: Board Games, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25896736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/california_112/pseuds/california_112
Summary: Consulting the board in front of him, Roger wondered once again why he was doing this. Snakes and ladders, was that really the best that the Red Cross could send? Rolling the die, he reluctantly moved his counter onto a snake, sliding from thirty-five to twenty-three. His half-hour's work was gone, and he handed the die back with a sigh. Small though this loss was, it reminded him of recent events, far less trivial than a board game.-or-Roger reflects on happenings in the camp, to a background of board games.SPOILERS FOR 'THE GREAT ESCAPE'
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Snakes and Ladders

A small bird, plumage bright against the dull palette of its surroundings, alighted on a branch, and began singing it's handful of notes. As its breath fogged ever so slightly in the wintry air, the well-known tune echoed around the forest, inviting others in the vicinity to join the cacophony. All in all, a beautiful sight and sound, worthy in many ways of a seasonal postcard.

On the other side of the barbed wire, Squadron Leader Bartlett was watching it, deep in thought. He had heard the sorrowful call every day for the last month, but had never really stopped to listen to it- he had been too busy. Even now, he was engaged in a furious fight with a fellow prisoner at Stalag Luft III.

"Your turn, Roger." said Group Captain Ramsey, handing over the die. "Roger?"

"Sorry, old man," he returned, "just thinking."

Consulting the board in front of him, Roger wondered once again why he was doing this. Snakes and ladders, was that really the best that the Red Cross could send? Rolling the die, he reluctantly moved his counter onto a snake, sliding from thirty-five to twenty-three. His half-hour's work was gone, and he handed the die back with a sigh. Small though this loss was, it reminded him of recent events, far less trivial than a board game.

The tragedy of the fourth of July had shocked everyone in the camp- losing the tunnel had been bad enough, but to see Ives' limp form hanging from the wire, riddled with bullets, had really made him angry. When Bartlett had first arrived on the scene, coming to a halt next to the Group Captain, his eyes had been drawn to the bright red tunic of Hilts, lying on the ground clutching his stomach. Although he feared that the shots had been against him, something didn't add up- there wasn't any blood at all- but following the American's gaze, he saw the arm fall, and the body bobbing on the wire. It was all he could do to stop himself running over there as well.

There had never been a silence so utter and complete as the one at that moment. All footsteps had stopped, and it seemed as though every breath was held in disbelief. Even the guards were silent, also shocked at the scene that had just unfolded. Only the pines outside the camp thrashed their derision wildly in the wind. Hilts stood, then took three slow steps forward, seemingly inviting the guard between him and his friend to shoot him in the chest. As everyone watched, nerves on edge, he bent down to the dust, picking up the Scot's cap.

It was such a gentle act of defiance, but one with such power. When he turned around after a moment's silence, it was to make straight for Bartlett. Hilts' words were precise, filled with restrained anger.

"Sir," he said perfunctorily, simply to gain Ramsey's attention, "I wanna know the exact information you need. I'm going out tonight."

The look on his face made it perfectly clear that this wasn't a question. "Right." Roger replied, processing exactly what the situation was now. If things hadn't been serious enough before, they certainly were now- someone was going to pay for Ives' death. The whole crowd of prisoners was one quick action away from a riot.

Still watching the body on the wire, Roger intoned "Open up Harry." He met Danny's eyes, seeing the exact same pain reflected. "We dig. Around the clock."

"Roger!" He was returned to the present with a bump as Ramsey tapped his hand. "Still playing?"

"Yes…sorry…" he said, and quickly rolled.

Twenty five to twelve, down again. He was almost back at the beginning, whilst the SBO was halfway up.

"No luck today, then?" he enquired jovially.

"No." was Roger's moody reply, and he went back to his thoughts.

The tunnel itself was going quite well, but not really well enough. Having so much dirt to disperse was the main worry- scattering it outside could only go so far. The gardens couldn't become raised beds, the compound would start to get uneven, and most of the other places suggested by the X organisation would be found out in a minute. He would really have to press them to get solutions.

Danny's recently discovered claustrophobia was a serious blow. He was their tunnel king, one of the best- how had it escaped everyone for so long? At least Willie was around to keep him sane, otherwise the whole attempt could be in serious straits. Altering escape numbers was nothing, if it meant having such a good worker as Danny stay on the team. His attempted escape, that Willie had quietly informed him about, had been the closest call yet. If he'd have got through, he would have been captured within days. If he hadn't, morale couldn't take it- nobody could bare to see another friend killed by the foe.

"Come on Roger, pay attention," Ramsey said, "I feel like I'm sitting here by myself."

"I'm sorry, it's just…Harry's on my mind." Roger replied, taking the die.

"Harry's on all our minds." the SBO pointed out. "There isn't much else to think of."

Bartlett rolled the die silently, almost cursing when he hit another snake, taking him from fourteen to two. Ramsey studied him from across the table.

"Roger, everything's going as well as it can. The papers, the outfits- it's all coming together, you've said so yourself! And the goons don't suspect a thing."

"What, after they found Tom? They've got sharper ever since."

"But not sharp enough. They never will be." Ramsey smiled. "You're getting out of here, Roger, whether you believe it or not."

Roger attempted a smile, handing the die back. The forgers were doing brilliant work on the papers, but with Blythe going blind the work had slowed considerably. Only a few could work at the speed that he had been able to achieve, and though he could see close up to check other people's work, he had too much difficulty doing any of his own for it to work out. Relegated to sitting in a corner waiting for people to present their finished work had been a definite blow for his morale and everyone else's.

Not having Tommy Bristol had been a blow from the beginning. That man would be able to charm the camp out of Von Luger, if he had been put in with them, but as it was, he was nowhere to be seen. However…

"You again," Ramsey said, and Roger rolled. "Well, your luck is going up!"

Bartlett had to agree- landing on a ladder, he had shot up from three to twenty three. A small smile began to grow as he handed the die back.

Yes, they didn't have Bristol, but Hendley was a blessing, an absolute miracle. Slightly different tactics to old scrounger, but with outcomes on par, the novelty of being American enough to get most guards talking. Danny had asked for two heavy picks, and he apparently hadn't batted an eyelid- and they'd been ready within the week. Blythe had needed such a specific type of camera, and of course film- a month later, it was up and working. The appearance of a new type travel permit still had him guessing, though from the behaviour of that ferret Werner just afterwards, Roger was pretty certain who it had been 'on loan' from. The other papers had been a bonus, and a life-saving one- one of the documents had been changed without their realising, and would have caused anyone carrying it to be shot without question. And those whole rolls of cloth…

Griff was doing an excellent job with the suits. His precision work would pass even the most stringent of inspections, and with the range of styles he was doing, it probably wouldn't come to that- some of those suits could be from Savile Row. The worker's clothing was just as good, the ready-worn fabric lending itself perfectly to the purpose. And everything hand sewn…without a doubt, he would have a trade for after the war.

Ashley-Pitt's ingenious solution for dispersing the dirt had taken Roger's breath away. It was so simple, almost obvious- and yet none of them had even considered it, in all their collective time in the bag. Even now, glancing away from the board, Roger watched as one of the men wandered over to the gardens, and a cascade of earth left the base of his trousers. None of the goons suspected a thing.

This time, Roger didn't need to he poked to know it was his turn. Taking the die, he rolled a perfect six, but missed a ladder by one square. Handing back the die, he watched the SBO take his turn.

Independence Day had been filled with tragedy, but the first part had been an absolute shot in the arm for morale. Alcohol, for the first time in an age, and eye-watering potato hooch at that. The chatter, the laughter, the singing, the occasional dance- they had been able to forget that they were behind barbed wire for a few hours, feel a little normal again. The day had ended in tragedy, but before that it had been the highest of highs.

Hilts had volunteered to get all that information, and then he'd really gone out and done it. Even though a small part of Roger had questioned if the American would return, it had been crushed by the memory of that determined face, and as soon as he had been released from the cooler, he had divulged a staggering amount of information, even more than they had asked for.

Eager now to roll again, he was holding out his hand for when the SBO was finished. As it clattered to a stop, the die produced just enough to make it to the next ladder- thirty two to forty eight.

"Steady on, you'll overtake me soon!" Ramsey complained jokingly, and Roger smiled back.

"I really am on a roll." he bantered.

Even Blythe's blindness hadn't been a complete loss, he had still spotted a few fatal flaws in work presented to him- and Hendley agreeing to escape with him had really boosted his spirits. Conversely, Danny being stopped from his reckless attempt had kept their progress going. Danny was a ruthless tunnel king, as he had right to be- after sixteen failures, being buried by falls more times than he could count, and scared of small spaces just to cap it off, how he had kept going for this long was beyond Bartlett…though, maybe not.

The need to escape was consuming everyone. It wasn't just for personal gain or satisfaction, getting home and seeing loved ones again, it was a need to annoy the enemy, be an invisible but sorely felt thorn in the side of the German war machine. Neither was personal revenge a motive, of course it couldn't be- he hadn't even considered it. He hated the Nazis, that wasn't even a question, but it was the thought of the confusion that would be caused all across their damned Reich that was motivating him through this.

Taking the die for his next turn, he rolled it with a flick, put it only produced a two. Pushing his counter forwards, it landed on a ladder, which took him straight to-

"Ninety-nine?"

Ramsey was incredulous, but not annoyed. He couldn't help noticing his opponent's characterful mood changes throughout their game, and now recognized that the old Roger was back- not the Squadron Leader who engaged in 'all the cultural pursuits', but the Big X who was masterminding the most audacious escape attempt that the Group Captain had ever heard of. He smiled, getting up.

"I think it's a foregone conclusion that you're going to win," he said, not just referring to the game, "care for some tea?"

"Sorry, sir, but if you don't mind, I'd like to check how things are going with Mac."

"Of course." Ramsey watched Bartlett hurry from the room, clearly throwing himself into Harry again.

The distraction had worked. It was easy to get bogged down in a place like this, but sometimes it was just as easy to get back on track again- and that was what Ramsey had hoped to do. Now that he had achieved his latest goal, he was sure that Roger would follow suit.

Hurrying around the exercise circuit to find Mac, Roger suddenly noticed the birdsong again- but this time, it was a tune of victory. The months of teamwork were about to pay off in a finale that would be remembered for years to come. It wouldn't fail, he wouldn't let it- it couldn't. Filled with hope, he came to a realisation: they really were going to get out of this place.

**Author's Note:**

> its so longgg
> 
> This idea was going to be the Fifty Prompt Challenge work (which is why the title is so similar!) but it looked too long and I would never have finished it in time. It's quite descriptive, but I hope it's enjoyed nonetheless!


End file.
